Italy the Chef
by Tanya Tsuki
Summary: It wasn't every day that the Best Cooking Show in the World had guest chefs tape a special. It was even rarer for the guest chef to be a Nation. And yet, today, there was a guest chef of the Italian Nation variety…


"Today I'm going to teach everyone how to make pasta!" Italy exclaimed, throwing a pot down on the counter. "I've been asked by some really nice people to make it into a video and we even have my friends here to act as an audience! It's going to be fun~!"

"First," Italy said, spinning around the stage in search of ingredients. "We need flour!"

"I have a flower for you!" France called from somewhere in the groaning audience.

"France! Keep quiet!" Germany yelled, his voice coming from what appeared to be backstage.

Italy merely laughed at the interruption and, locating the flour, dumped a large pile on the counter. He quickly spread some of the flour out over the surface before piling the rest up in the middle. "We made a volcano, see? Isn't this fun? Next we need eggs." He looked around. "Eggs? Germanyyyyy! Where are the eggs?"

Germany heaved a sigh before walking out on the stage, receiving polite applause from the audience. He gave a small wave of acknowledgement before walking over to the refrigerator. "Over here, Italy. In the refrigerator."

"Ve?" Italy whirled around. "Oh! What were they doing hiding in there? Silly eggs." He pulled out the carton and placed it in front of him, a slight frown on his face at the lack of fresh eggs. "Now we want to make lava!" Italy beamed and cracked an egg over the top of the flour volcano.

"If you want lava, I could make you erupt," France called, falling silent at Germany's stern glare.

"Next we knead the dough and make it into round balls!"

"I have some balls that need kne—"

A loud bang echoed throughout the room and Italy stopped his kneading to look up, seeing Switzerland glaring at France. "Next time I won't miss," Switzerland growled before retaking his seat. France paled completely and fainted once he saw how close Switzerland had come to his vital regions.

"Continue on, Italy, before you run out of time," Germany hissed.

Italy nodded and picked up the rolling pin. "If the dough doesn't stick, add some water to it and then it should be all nice and sticky! Now we flatten the dough as thin as you want the pastaaaaaaa to be." He quickly set to work, moving at the pace of someone who had long ago mastered the art.

Once finished, Italy let out a sigh and wiped away sweat from his brow. "This is hard work, isn't it? But it's fun work! And the results will be so yummy!" He picked up a knife, holding it loosely in his hand, much to Germany's worry. "Next we—"

"Italy, stop talking with your hands when you're holding a knife in them!" Germany yelled, causing Italy to jump and drop the knife.

"I'm sorry, Germany!" Italy wailed and ran off the studio, throwing himself on Germany. "I'm so sorry."

"You're on camera. You can't run off! Italy, be professional!" Germany pried Italy off his person and gave him a push back towards the dough-covered counter.

"O-ok!" Italy sniffled and returned to the counter. "Next we have to cut—oh! The knife!" He picked it up from the floor. "We have to cut," he lowered the knife to the dough but was stopped by Germany coming out of nowhere and grabbing his wrist.

"Wash the _knife._ That was on the _floor_," Germany hissed into Italy's ear.

"R-right," Italy sobbed and hurried over to the sink to wash it. Once finished, he returned, humming a tune. "Next we cut the dough," he sang, not noticing Germany's twitching, "into the shape of our pasta." He began to cut the dough into thin strips, occasionally looking over at Germany and smiling. "Oh, and, the thinner it is, the better!"

"Done!" He exclaimed a few minutes later, showing his perfectly cut pasta to the camera. "Now we have to boil the water and then add the pasta and then it's done. Yay!" The audience politely applauded.

Italy filled a pot with water, once again humming. "I love pasta, you see," he murmured, gathering up his pasta and standing next to the pot, waiting. "The world is made of precious flour and water. When I look—"

"Italy. Stop. Singing," Germany snapped. "The water is boiling."

"Ve?" Italy looked at the pot of boiling water. "We add the pasta to the boiling water!" Italy dumped the pasta in. "Then we let the pasta boil and check it often after a couple of minutes. When it's kind of chewy but not hard or sticky it's done!"

Italy looked at Germany out of the corner of his eye. They were standing side by side in silence waiting for the pasta to boil. Italy rocked on the balls of his feet, wanting nothing more than to sing and fill up the silence. A glance into the audience showed a bunch of bored faces.

"Are there any questions?" Italy asked suddenly. A hand flew up. "America!"

America stood up from his seat and gave the camera a charming grin before addressing Italy. "What are you going to eat it with?"

"I wasn't told to make sauce, but pesto would be really yummy with this pasta!" Italy told him energetically.

America smiled and sat back down while Italy tried a piece of the pasta.

"Perfect!" Italy exclaimed and turned the heat off. "Finally we drain the pasta and then it's ready to be eaten!"

Italy awkwardly carried the pot to the sink and drained the water. "And that's how you make pasta!" he said with a flourish once the pot was emptied. "Thanks for watching!" He waved at the camera.

"And that's a wrap," the cameraman called out.

"Yahoo!" Italy cried out, bouncing over to Germany. "Wasn't that fun, Germany? We should do it again!"

"Not…not today," Germany told him. The noise in the audience started to grow as the Nations began to leave, carefully stepping around and avoiding the still-unconscious France. "Why don't we clean up the station?"

"Can we eat first?" Italy asked, staring almost longingly at the pasta.

Germany sighed and nodded, wincing at Italy's high pitched squeal.

ooOoo

_I have never made pasta from scratch and I will not sit here and pretend to be an expert. All of my information came from the Internet so…it very likely is incorrect. I apologize if that is the case._


End file.
